The One Who Went Free
by ava-ked
Summary: *resubmitted due to illegible characters* Peter Pettigrew got off free before, leaving someone else to suffer. But does he ever think about the rights and wrongs of what he did? Does he regret it?


Disclaimer: All characters and plot belong to JKR. I'm merely borrowing them for awhile. 

Author's Note: This is my first HP fanfic. I've always wondered about Peter Pettigrew, and this is what my twisted mind has come up with. Thanks for reading, and please review!

The One Who Went Free 

A figure could be seen hunched over on the ground. He was merely gazing into the white empty space, seemingly oblivious to the harsh winds blowing all around him. At first glance, he did not seem to be doing anything, but at a closer look one would see the clenched fists, the tense jaw, and those eyes. Staring forwards intensely, but there was a glassy look in them. His mind was in turmoil, even though there was only one thought going through it. One word...

_Traitor._

He had been happy. Well, not happy, exactly, but he was able to exist well enough. He had managed to banish away that part of him, the part which constantly whispered that it was wrong, that he shouldn't have done it. For years, he had merely existed, convinced (or was it merely trying to convince himself?) that there was nothing wrong with what he had done. Then in one night, it had all shattered apart. His conscience was back, along with that word which it kept throwing at him.

_Traitor._

That single word, which burnt through his consciousness.

_Traitor._

Despite his efforts to not think about it, his mind acted of its own volition. Along with that annoying thing called conscience, it forced him to reconsider everything, and forced him to evaluate himself. Why? asked his mind. What happened?

He had been happy, then. Happy and carefree with no preoccupations, when the biggest worry was whether he'd done his homework correctly. What had happened to that young, innocent boy? When had life become more than who won the next Quidditch match? He could not pinpoint the date, or the exact time. All he knew was that it had gradually stolen silently upon him too, that haunted look he saw in the eyes of the adults around him. Caused by fear, no doubt. Fear of the growing darkness in the world outside. He had been worn out by the effort of trying to appear brave. Trying to set an example to the younger students in the school. Trying to act like his friends. Trying to be a Gryffindor.

_Traitor._

Thinking wistfully back, he thought of the fun they had had. Those times when he had felt truly happy. When he had loyal, caring friends who would have done anything for him. His own words came back to haunt him - 'what was there to be gained by refusing him?' And the shattering reply - 'only innocent lives'...

Only innocent lives. Lives like those of...­but he didn't want to think of them. _It's past. They're dead. No matter how sorry you are, you won't bring them back._ Sorry? Was he sorry?

_Traitor._

_No. They were wrong. I was right to do what I did. I picked the winning side._ But it hadn't been the winning side. Like they had done many times after that night, doubts resurfaced in his mind. _Was I really right?_

_Traitor._

No, stop it, he tried to scream. Tried to stop thinking that single word, which kept preying on his mind. _I was right, I _was, _they were the ones who were too brave for their own good…_He tried to stop the stream of thoughts, the happy memories of being with his friends. But they kept coming. He thought of that night, the night when everything had come apart. The reunification of him with his friends…­_not all friends though, _he's _already gone, and you won't ever see him again, and it's all your fault..._

There was also those words his...­friends...­had screamed at him - '_Then you should have died, died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!' _The knowledge that he had betrayed those friends, betrayed those loyal and true friends who would have died for him...

_Traitor._

Bravery. That was another thing with which he couldn't identify. They had made it seem so easy, playing their pranks as though the outside world didn't exist. Carrying on life as normal. He had always been scared, and in nightmares haunted by the fear that they would come for him one day. And the fear that, when they did, he would not be able to resist them. They had not come, though, not until later after he had finished school. By then he was utterly exhausted from trying to keep his act, the fear when reading the newspaper headlines very day, and he had given in. Given in to those he had sworn to fight.

And after his efforts had still been concentrated on keeping his act. But a different act. It had not been easy trying to hide it from his friends, but they had not noticed anything out of the ordinary. Preoccupied, no doubt, with their fight. Their fight against…the person he had joined.

_Traitor._

Gradually, he had managed to convince himself that he was right. That he had picked the right side. That his friends were wrong, and that he was merely doing the world a service. He would convince his friends, too, when he had the chance, and then they would be fighting on the same side once more. That belief had kept him going throughout all those years. But now...­after that night...

_Traitor._

Then there was what he had done only a couple of months ago. Helped _him_ come back to power, the monster which he and his friends had always sworn to fight. Harmed the son of his best friend. _Former best friend. They're all former best friends. I renounced them when I joined...­_him.

_Traitor._

He could no longer make excuses for his behaviour. Fact was fact, and he was tired of keeping this up. He was a traitor. He had betrayed his friends. He was wrong to have done so, and yes, he regretted it now. _But the question now is, can I ever make up for it? Is there anything I can do to redeem myself somewhat?_

_Redemption._

The word was an alien one, one which had never once crossed his mind. It was something out of reach, something which seemed too good for him. But now, he felt a sudden yearning for it, for forgiveness, even if his sins were too heavy to ever forgive...

_Redemption._

He could picture what his friends would say if he went to ask them. They would sneer at him. Scoff. Probably kill him outright. He wouldn't mind that, actually, if it meant that he could die knowing that they forgave him. But there was no possibility of that. He couldn't just go and ask for their forgiveness. Maybe if he did something, something which helped them, or something which would help atone for what he had done…

_Redemption._

It was like a fruit that was just out of reach. But now that he had finally reached the conclusion that what he had done _was_ wrong, he couldn't just leave it there. He couldn't carry on, _knowing _it was wrong. Before it was different. Now that he had forced himself to think about the matter, to face the truth, it was too late. He had to do something now. He couldn't live in the ignorance of before. _Was it ignorance, really? Didn't I always know, deep inside, that it was wrong? Was I just fooling myself?_

Well, he would fool himself no longer.

* * *

The figure which had previously been hunched forwards suddenly sprung into action. He stood there unmoving for a moment, and moved his lips slightly. Then he disappeared. A few seconds later, he reappeared in a forest. After walking for awhile, he arrived at a massive stone door. _I can do this. Just a little bit longer...­they won't forgive me. In their eyes, I'll never be redeemed. But at least I won't be living, no, actually merely existing in, a traitor's life anymore._

_Freedom._

He had got away free, before. Scot free, as people said. But it wasn't really freedom, was it? He had been free for awhile, but now his sins had caught up with him. His conscience had returned, now insuppressible. He hadn't been free. By doing this, at least he would be free of this miserable life. He would be able to forget about everything that had happened, and even though he probably would never be able to redeem himself, at least he would be free of his thoughts, of the knowledge that he had betrayed his friends. No doubt he would be thrown into Azkaban. Given the Dementor's Kiss. But at least he wouldn't be _conscious._ He wouldn't have to _think._ He would be, in a way, free. He knocked.

_Freedom._

_Yes, freedom will be a good thing._ The door opened. The man stumbled inside, worn out. But before he fell down, a few intelligible phrases made their way into the ears of the woman staring down incredulously. "It was me. I'm the traitor. Take it away. I can't bear it, the guilt. Please take it away. I know it was wrong. Never be forgiven. Don't care about redemption, just want to get away from this life, freedom from this guilt..."

The man fell down.

Fin.

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